


Hay Fever Summer

by Shut_up_its_our_AU



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Claustrophobia, F/M, Lots of extraneous cast, M/M, No beta reading | we die like Witchers!, Sensory Overload, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23187040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shut_up_its_our_AU/pseuds/Shut_up_its_our_AU
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are off on the road again, navigating through new social constraints and liberties between each other and the people around them.  Where the Witcher goes, his Bard will follow, even into the depth of humanity’s wretched nature and the heights of its loving bonds.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20
Collections: Is A Mutant Still A Witcher?





	Hay Fever Summer

Geralt and Jaskier’s first stop was back at the town they had fled from first, they halted outside of the village, Geralt clearly on edge as he brought Roach to a stop. The frost was just melting, the colors of spring peaking through the snow and off the bare trees leaves budded, eager to spring forth and stretch their colors like flags and ribbons on holiday staves. Jaskier found himself so easily enthralled by the vibrancy with which he now saw the world, he could hear the distant chirping of birds returning from their vacations in warmer climates and the shuffle of foxes and bears waking from hibernation somewhere deeper in the woods. “Oh Geralt, is this how spring sounds to you? It’s lovely.”

“You certainly look like you can hear it.” The Witcher grumbled, an edge of concern sliding along the sentence like a knife.

“Because of my eyes? Geralt I can defend myself if necessary.”

“I’d rather it not come to that.” 

Jaskier drummed his fingers on his chin and chewed on his cheek softly in thought. He wanted to say something, to snip back but the rhythm of the Witcher’s heart and his steps made him reconsider. His Witcher was antsy and would probably continue to be so as long as there was a threat to the safety of his beloved. He couldn’t exactly be angry about that, they were more than company now, months of training and small conversations and confessions ensured that. With some flare the minstrel dug into his bag and pulled out one of his sash belts, a thin black band, and tested it against the light before tying it about his head to cover his eyes and test his story on the worried lover with characteristic drama, “As the snow sunk its teeth into the land last year a man poisoned me but thanks to my dearest fellow, Geralt of Rivia whisked me away to be healed. He saved my life but alas, my poor eyes will never see again.”

“How are you getting around blind bardling?” Geralt leaned against a nearby tree but Jaskier could hear as mush as see the amusement in his voice.

“Hmmm...I can hear better perhaps?”

“Echolocation?” 

“Could say my ears have been well tuned for years and now they work as my eyes.”

“It’ll fool the common man at least.” Geralt shrugged.

“That’s really all we have to worry about isn’t it?” The bard smiled and practically skipped up next to Geralt, a gesture greeted with a small smile and a shake of his head, “Would you kindly offer your dearest friend your arm so as to be sure he doesn’t trip, you wouldn’t refuse a blind man.”

“You’re having too much fun with this.” The Witcher didn’t take the offered arm, it felt strange in his head, “Come on, we’re nearly to some warm shelter.”

“As you wish.”

The town was bustling, a surprise to them both as six war horses tamped the ground outside the tavern, leaving no room for Roach it the small stable.

“Red and green heraldry,” Geralt didn’t know enough about noble houses but the description had Jaskier interested and he neared one of the horses to see the pattern.

“The Marquess!”

“You know her?” Geralt tilted his head to watch his supposedly blind bard examine the saddles and horse coats.

“I was supposed to spend this last winter with her, before well...all that.”

“What’s she doing here? It’s been months.”

“Want to see?” The bard gestures towards the door and his Witcher grunted but followed to sate his curiosity.

There was clattering of platemail as the pair entered, a rush of fabric as two sets of mutant eyes followed the half armored form of Marquess Aranthe as she hurried over to embrace the bard, “Julian! Oh you sweet and foolish bard, the innkeep told me you were dead.”

Geralt looked over the pair with a small amount of amusement. He thought for a moment about jealousy but....that wasn’t really a concept he understood enough to feel it with any certainty.

“My lady, I surely would be if not for my sweet savior, I presume you know Geralt of Rivia, he swiftly brought me to heal, sadly at the cost of my eyes yes but I’ll never forget your stunning beauty wildflower.”

Ah. Now the attention was on Geralt, he shuffled to hide his discomfort before addressing the woman that smelled of wolf and iron, “Marquess.”

“It is actually you I seek White one.” That had the Witcher raising a brow, a silent question the Marquess picked up on, “I had believed Julian dead but I know your skill and kindness from his ballads, I need your help Witcher. I will see you well compensated.”

“What troubles you?”

“We should not discuss this matter so openly. Accompany me to my hold and I shall expand there.”

Geralt looked to Jaskier, the man a beam of comfort and confidence, he seemed to trust this noblewoman and she did promise coin, the Path pulled on him with trained instinct. “Lead the way.”

The Marquess and her five guards loaded onto their horses and Jaskier got to ride Roach for a third time simply for being ‘blind’. The noble woman had offered him a seat in her saddle but Geralt was quick to surprise himself when he pulled his bard onto his horse, sitting him in front of himself and once again pleased he never used a pommeled saddle. He could feel and smell the presence of his bard against his chest and it was slightly claustrophobic, sensory discomfort. This is why he preferred to be held when sharing a bed with someone, it made him feel like he was about to choke. Jaskier helped by leaning forward some and holding onto Roach, lavishing the mare in affection and petting hands as they made slow pace down the road.

He couldn’t overstate how much that helped.

Once they reached the keep it became clear where the Marquess got her funding. The hold was deep in Forest with little farm land but plenty of wild game, traders in the courtyard had tables lined with furs and butchers hawked their meats as both fresh and cured, there was even black boar draped over a vending table, it’s tusks still in the fur to prove its legitimacy.

“A lovely hold your grace.” Geralt commented.

“The Forest has always proved bountiful to my family Sir Witcher, I should hope it remains so.” 

“So what’s the problem, Griffin infringing on your game?”

“Nothing quite so simple I’m afraid though I am certain the elders will have plenty of work for you along those lines.”

“You have something more personal.” 

“I’m afraid so, but let’s not speak of it in the open air. There is mead and venison inside, I’ll be more than happy to extend my pantry and rooms to your company while we address the matter.

“One room if it pleases your grace, I find it somewhat difficult to navigate without my trusty guide.” Jaskier interjected, covering their asses from divulging the nature of their relationship with his supposed affliction.

“Of course, I’ll have my handmaiden prepare the guest room in the west wing.” 

Geralt silently thanked Jaskier with a nod and the group dismounted, the guards returning to their barracks, the Marquess leading her guests up the stone steps and into her keep, shedding her fur cloak as the warmth of stoked fires and the smell of burning pine met them. She pulled out of her plate and her maidens gathered it up as she gave orders for the accommodations her guests would need.

“Madam, your son awaits you in the library.” A maiden bowed as she spoke, the people here treated the lady as if she were Queen to a small nation and it intrigued the Witcher to watch as their formalities were met with warm comfort from the Marquess.

“I will be there soon, have lunch brought there and enough for my guests as well. Oh and Fiya,” the maid stopped to listen before making more then two steps, “Your husband, I would see him.”

“Yes Madam.”

“Fiya’s husband is her Woodsman, he oversees the efforts against poaching.” Jaskier provided insight and earned a low “Hmmm.” in reply.

“There has always been the temptation to take and take from the woods but should we do so we would be a barren land forthwith.” Aranthe sighed.

“So you keep a special guard for the woods then?”

“I do, and it’s with him you’ll be working on my matter.”

“Still in the dark as to what this matter is, your grace.” Geralt didn’t like using these titles but he felt compulsed to do so. Keep the nobility happy, don’t get a mob.

“You will see for yourself soon Sir Witcher, just a moment more of your patience.”

“Hmm....” begrudging acceptance.

They traveled to the left of the keep’s great hall and through a pair of sturdy iron doors, Geralt hummed appreciatively at the fireproofing measures taken for their treasured books. The room smelled of rose oil, manuscripts, dust, and under it all, dog. Geralt followed the smell further in and came face to face with a looming figure, gaunt with hungry eyes, tall as a bookcase, ears pressed back as the creature let out a low growl, his medallion quivered, muscles tended at the ready.

“Sir Witcher, this is my son, Tebias, he is why I asked you come.”

“He’s a werewolf. Who cursed him?” Geralt stepped slightly back to ease the giant hybrid into calming.

“No curse, the wolf has always followed the blood of my house, but he cannot revert, every day he grows more distant and aggressive. I fear for him.” Aranthe approached her son and held his massive face in her hands, petting along his muzzle, “We have a pact with this land Geralt, and someone has broken it.”

“Hence the Woodsman.” Geralt found a seat nearby and examined the werewolf, Tebias, carefully.

“Indeed.” Aranthe watched a Jaskier joined his Witcher, hands outstretched as he followed the voice until he could get his fingers on Geralt’s armor and sit beside him, “We should eat, I’m sure you’re hungry, we’ll convene with Rodfred on the matter when he arrives.”

Geralt and a Jaskier both watched the werewolf prowl, the beast cautious when not directly beside his mother. This was a dog house to be sure.


End file.
